


Drabbles, Snippets and Everything in Between

by Aisla_elfvictory



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2019-11-27 03:00:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18188891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisla_elfvictory/pseuds/Aisla_elfvictory
Summary: This is my shot at drabbles of the Silmarillion characters.Of course, everyone's favourite House of Finwe is included.:)Glad you chose to give this a chance.





	1. Caranthir x oc- Lost

**Author's Note:**

> OC Evangeline and Prince Carnistro in a ball hosted in Tirion.  
> Reunion of lovers?  
> A bit of angst.  
> (Not too much, hopefully)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OC Evangeline and Prince Carnistro in a ball hosted in Tirion. Fourth Age.  
> Reunion of lovers?  
> A bit of angst.  
> (Not too much, hopefully)

There he was, Prince Carnistro of Thargelion.

Evangeline stared- at the reborn lord, dressed in splendid robes, circlet upon his raven head, dispassionately staring at the crowd of lords and ladies gleefully enjoying the annual ball of Tirion, hosted by none other than King Arafinwe himself.

Grey eyes met hers, then in moments, Evangeline found herself face-to-face with the elven Prince.

"I heard you have a new suitor," said he, head cocked upwards to the lavish chandeliers, a mocking show of curiosity.

"Yes," Evangeline answered, voice shaking more than she intended it so, silenced by his imposing air.

Time- the healer and the killer, a voice murmured inside her head.  
They had once been friends- what happened?  
Time.

"Does he make you laugh as I did?" he asked, ensnaring Evangeline from her wayward thoughts, silver eyes intense as they met her frigid blue.

Around, lords and ladies danced, laughing joyously, none around aware of the inner turmoil she was struggling through.

Evangeline took a deep breath.

"He doesn't make me cry as you did." She bit out, evading his question.

Silver eyes turned sorrowful. Raising her gloved hand upon his velvety lips, he bestowed upon her knuckles one final kiss, and after gently caressing Evangeline's hand...

He was gone.

Once, Evangeline's mother had said, "The depth of your happiness this day is the profundity of your wound on the morrow."

If Evangeline had known the pain she would go through all those years ago, and all for loving the Prince... She would still do it again, without one moment's hesitation.

Evangeline's suitor approached then, leading her to a dance, green eyes gleaming as though he were the predator and she the prey, and shivers wracked up her spine.

He was the one the King favoured- what was his name again? Arveldir? Renion?

Very soon the dance was over. A woman swept over, bearing a striking resemblance to probably-Arveldir, and said, "Leithon, dear, is this the Noldor maid you were so smitten with?"

Oh, not Arveldir then. Leithon.

Leithon was nothing like her Carnistro. Oh- silly Evangeline. Carnistro belongs to no one. But he was boring, droning on and on of old family estates, wealth and such where she and Carnistro had spent afternoons debating, laughing together (as friends do) and simply enjoying each other's company. And where with Carnistro she felt safe and secure, with her suitor she felt only caged and jittery.

Their love was sacred, hallowed by the harsh, unforgiving soil of Beleriand and stilled by the shining radiance of Tillion. It was sacred. A memory. Untouchable.

She who had hurt him when he had done no wrong, she who had been cruel to him in those last days before Doriath. But then all short-tempered legacy aside, he had taken in her every harsh and insult, patiently awaiting her tirade to end just so he could lay upon her burning forehead wet cloths that soothed her fever.

He was good to her- goodness that she never deserved, kindness that she never repaid and love that was never returned in full.  
He deserved so much more- a maiden, beautiful and kind, compassionate and caring- anything but a wreck like her. Certainly not spoiled goods.

He had been so disappointed and hurt, but never angry. For all her faults, the Prince had never lost his temper on her. What had she done to deserve him? Nothing.

Fool she was for daring to dream a bright future with Prince Carnistro!

He was a precious, pristine memory. A memory cherished above measure.

Blinking rapidly, Evangeline willed her tears to disappear, embracing the long-awaiting truth.

She lost him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there!  
> First of all, thank you so much for giving this chapter a chance.  
> This is my first time posting a fanfic and I would really appreciate it if you spare a bit more time to post a review, comment, whatever.  
> Please do correct me if there's something wrong with the grammar (apologies for that- English isn't my first language and I'm not quite familiar with it) or if you think that something could have gone better.  
> Thanks again for sparing the time.
> 
> Aisla_Elfvictory


	2. Maedhros x Reader - Taste of Failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set before and after Maedhros leaves for the camp of the Valar with his brother Makalaure.  
> Poor reader and a teeny weeny bit of heartbreak.

Your argument had been raging on for hours.

  
You were upset, but so was he.

  
“Look,” he snapped, diplomatic facade breaking, “I don’t expect you to understand. The Silmarils are my father’s jewels. The Valar have _no right_ to claim them- it’s the least I can do, Silmarils recovered and at long last in rightful hands.”

  
“We’ve already lost so much, Nelyo,” you argued, making a futile attempt to convince him.

  
But his grey eyes only grew colder, and you knew you crossed a line. The love he bore for his father had always been a thorn on your side, leading him to make foolish decisions and resulting in even more foolishness.

  
He snarled, shoving his stump into your line of vision.

  
“Yes,” he sneered, voice cold and icy. “We’ve already lost so much. Think that I harbour no grief for my lost hand? My dead brothers? We continue the fight in memory of what we lost- of the once great house that is _gone_.”

  
You sighed, exasperated.

  
“Makalaure doesn’t want to go- and _I_ don’t want you to go.” You retorted, then seeing his torn expression, you knew he did not wish to see the accursed jewels too.

  
Your voice softened. “Maitimo...” you murmured, raising a hand to tuck away a strand of vibrant red hair.

  
He flinched.

  
“Stay with me. Don’t leave me here alone.” You mumbled, leaning your head on his chest. Protective arms automatically curled around your waist, pulling you close.

  
He said nothing, but you felt him take in a shuddering breath, indecisive and unsure- unsure as he never had been.

  
Anger flared in you then, anger at Morgoth for what he and his cronies had done to your beloved, anger at the Valar for what they condemned the House of Fëanor to, anger at Thingol, Luthien, Dior, Elwing... All those who denied you a peaceful life with your husband and six temperamental but still sweet brothers-in-law.

  
But you knew him, and even now, when he hasn’t made his decision yet, you knew he would take the Silmarils.

  
His loyalty to blood was too great to be conquered by a mere elf as you, even if it were one that he loves.

  
By dawn, he shall be gone; but for now, you will bask in the last hours of his presence.  
Your last hours of peace.

  
___ ___ ___

  
The sun climbed steadily up the sky, shining and ethereal.

  
The wardrobe door creaked beside you. Turning, you saw your husband in full armour, looking at you with guilt.

  
Forcing a smile to your face, you rose from the bed, tipping your face upwards for a morning kiss.

  
Nelyafinwe graced your silent request, rough lips brushing against yours with surprising gentleness, wistful and reverent.

  
You knew it then.

  
“You will not be coming back.” You stated blandly, hoping that he would -for once- prove your instincts wrong.

  
But he did not deny it, choosing instead to place a chaste kiss upon the crown of your head.

  
“Queen of my heart,” he murmured, silver eyes feverish.

  
You saw his desperation to remain, but you also saw his frigid determination to fulfill his father’s legacy.

  
You knew that you could not force him to choose.

  
You loved him too much to make him choose.

  
His hand gently caressed you for one final time... and then he was gone.

  
___ ___ ___

  
How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Months? Years, maybe.

  
But time did not matter. You had all the time in the world... in solitude.

  
Grimacing at the sorry spectacle of your recent sketch, you crumpled the parchment you were sketching on and tossed it away.

  
A soft thud echoed in the room as the paper ball landed some ways from you.

  
Sighing, you stood up and strode to the window, picking up and uncrumpling the wrinkled parchment.

  
There was something wrong.

  
You had always been an excellent artist, your skills with artworks- especially with charcoal- were unparalleled. What had changed?

  
The Nelyafinwe in the parchment was... Wrong.

  
Too tamed.

  
Long curls of hair too tamed- not the unruly mess you remembered.

  
Frowning, you made adjustments, hand guiding the piece of charcoal to a quick dance over the sheet.

  
Still there was something wrong, you thought, frustration welling in you.

  
Hours later, you conceded defeat.

  
It was an undeniable truth- that when Nelyafinwe left, he took with him pieces, fragments of you, and now... you are lost.

  
_Help me, Maitimo; for I am lost, and know not the way._

  
The taste of failure was bitter on your lips.


	3. Feanor x Fingolfin- Treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A take on the burning of the ships at Losgar, written in the perspective of Feanor.  
> Why did he burn the ships?  
> Was there a secret motive?  
> What of the unvoiced love of two forbidden lovers?

 

 

 

Standing at the shores of Losgar, I felt a sense of foreboding.

The Valar are cruel. But the Valar are also right.

In the fullness of time, the Doom will come. 

How shall my people fall then? What be the fate of my sons? 

Martyrs or cowards? 

The host of Feanaro shall fall and die, remembered as martyrs- I do not care. 

Not anymore. 

But Nolofinwë must live. 

Nolofinwë who is pure and does not deserve my taint. Nolofinwë who shall live as I shall fall, Ñolvo- 

"Atar?" A familiar voice sweeps into the musings of my muddled mind. 

Maitimo's face was white. I can taste his fear, but I can also see the cold determination glinting in silver eyes. I raised a fine son. 

My son does not flinch from my gaze, choosing instead to say, "When will see send the ships back to Araman?" 

Images flash before my mind- Nolvo abroad a swan ship, beloved to the Teleri; Nolvo arriving at Losgar, taking in the wilderness of Hither Shores; Nolvo dying before Morgoth in a blackened, barren land.  

The last lingered in my mind. Nolofinwë. Dying. 

I cannot let this happen.  

Nolofinwë shall be left behind in Aman.  

Desperate and with the Helcaraxë the only way to cross, he shall return to Tirion. 

Furious, betrayed, but safe from all harm. 

Safe from the Doom of the Noldor which shall befall my host. 

"Atar?" Maitimo asked again, concern clear in his voice. "Are you unwell?" 

"Burn the ships," I ordered, and I felt no contrition.

"Atar?" 'Tis Curufinwë this time, just as concerned and more than merely sceptical.

"Burn the ships." 

 

* * *

 

I never saw a sight so magnolias as the burning ships at the shores of Losgar. 

With furious cries and cold malice, I watch as my sons and followers direct days of pent up worries, frustration and resentment at the Telerin swan ships.

Maitimo alone stands aside, despondency etched upon his fine features. 

"You have condemned him to live a life of shame and disgrace," says my eldest, sorrow in his voice. 

I felt hatred grow at his sympathy. 

"I need not your commiseration!" snarl I, my temper getting the best of me. 

"Nolofinwë will return to Tirion degraded and defamed, but he will be safe and unaffected by the Doom." I continue.

He will loathe me, I tell myself; he will detest me, but he will know a life free of sufferings. 

And he will live content and untroubled. Nolvo will be safe. 

"What is he to you?" Maitimo asks. 

I thought of my half-brother, smiling at court, cold and calculating; he and I in the forge, his laughter a shining beacon to my soul; Nolvo at the festives, his voice like music and rising above the din. 

What is Nolvo to me? 

Gold? 

Silver?

My creations? 

The Silmarilli?

"Treasure." 


	4. Finrod x Reader- Playing With Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One-shot with Findarato based on a short poem I wrote a few weeks back- small arguments, Findarato’s friendship with Amarie, and some tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my few works about Findarato- unfortunately, it did not turn out as sweet as I hoped. May I present you, fellow readers and writers, Playing With Fire.

_I should have known better-_  
You were smiling at me, warm and friendly ( _As pretty as a maiden’s dream_ , Atarinkë had sneered, and Tyelkormo had laughed along mockingly); I was undoubtedly smitten. Golden locks had fallen into your eyes and I raised my hand to tuck it behind a pointy ear. Your smile turned even brighter (as though it were possible) and harp by your side, lithe fingers danced upon silver strings as your golden voice rose in a serenade, soothing and welcoming.

 _I did know better._  
Under the lure of music, slumber came peacefully, and my eyes fluttered close, swept to the arms of Lorien. A small, insistent part of my heart berated, for falling so doubtlessly under your charm. A larger part of me does not care. Absently, I reminded myself of your inevitable departure- perhaps not today, nor tomorrow, but you would leave me all the same, and sail for your golden shores, for your people, for your love hallowed and unforgotten.

 _But I was drawn to him, you see._  
To the laughing blue eyes, to the calloused hands (so tender and gentle on my flesh), to the generous heart and to the furrowed concentration on your brow. A most unhealthy obsession, I knew, but I was determined to commit your features into memory- After all, you will be Amarie’s one day, for Amarie was better and you deserved the best of both worlds. (Not that I was any good.)

 _He was addictive._  
_What am I to you?_ You had asked on an icy day as I made my nest on your bed, lazy smile and golden eyes. _Addiction_ , I said, peeking from my nest of furs. _Addiction_ , you had smiled, bemused and unbelieving. _Addiction_ , I insisted. And you laughed, sending warmth to my frozen heart. _As Milady wishes_ , you teased. My heart clenched, my stomach fluttered, and I could not glance away from your smile. I settled for burrowing further into my nest. You exhaled, part fond part exasperated, and held me in your arms, duvet and all. An involuntary smile lingered on my face. See? Addiction. It is not so bad, I tell myself. You can always make me smile; a gentle nudge, a kind word, a comforting embrace; you’d always find a way to brighten my day.

 _Like nicotine was to smokers._  
A too sweet poison (You know what they say- the sweetest are the deadliest). I downed the poison anyway. If I explained, you would understand. I know, but I cannot bear to refuse you. Too kind, too gentle, too otherworldly. You burnt me like Apollo burnt Icarus. (You burnt me, though you did not know, and I made no sound.) To love a God, I pondered sadly. Icarus. I thought him a fool then. I understand now.

 _And we were helpless-_  
Another night. Another nightmare. You shook me awake. _You were crying_ , you said, voice slurred with traces of sleep, but lingering with fondness. _Breathe_ , you murmured soothingly, a warm hand rubbing the small of my back. My body obliged, eager to please you. You made me weak and helpless, and I wanted nothing more than for you to leave, but I craved your touch as much as I despised it. You were safety and comfort, helplessness the unspoken price. It was not your fault, I knew, shivering. Only moments ago, I lived in the reality of my mind, watching as I lived a life without you. I was miserable. _Do you think I will let you leave so easily?_ You asked, amused, when I had stuttered out my question. Doubt fled from my mind, breathing became easier; you leant down to place a chaste kiss upon the crown of my head. All was well.

 _Moths drawn to an overly bright fire._  
You were talking of some upcoming political debate in Nargothrond, eyes passionate and glinting with a fire unrivalled by even the fruit of Laurelin. I had watched, mesmerized. There was so much to do- sort through the ledgers, manage the household, entertain the ladies... But at that moment, nothing mattered but you, for you were a star, and I was merely another planet orbiting around you.

* * *

 

 _I should not have hated her._  
Amarie was friendly and sweet and gentle, and you loved her, for she was your childhood friend, you told me. You uttered no lie, and I trusted you, so for a while, I let it be. (You were not lying, merely ignorant.) We were on the path to friendship and girl-bonding, then I saw her regard for you three months into her stay in our white-fenced home by the edges of Valinor, undisguised gestures of love, unconcealed glances of longing, and everything changed after that.

 _I did not hate her._  
One night, I mustered the courage and asked about her. _We were lovers once_ , you told me, _but it is over now_. I did not pry. You had respected my privacy and you would return the courtesy. It was only fair, and my one principle in life had always been equality. I pitied her. You were oblivious to her advances, to her adoring gaze. Fool you were, yes, but mine all the same. All would be well, I had thought, and drifted off to a sleepless slumber. It was only later that I realised we were both of us fools.

 _We were both moths, you see._  
How had you not seen the regard she held you in? She loved you, and she was so much better than I was, so much better than I ever would be. Had you not seen the way I purveyed the cruellest of truths to others, delighting in the agony in their gaze, the way I betrayed my closest relatives without thought of kinship? (Granted, all unspeakable actions were all done for you, done to ensure more of your safety and less of mine.)

 _We were enthralled_  
I was jealous, though I told myself the opposite. Arguments, once a foreign concept, replaced what had once been playful banter. Your smiles, once so bright and often seen, seemed to have disappeared entirely. You were my rock, my anchor, and I could oft depend on you to soothe my ruffled feathers. That midsummer night, with Tilion soaring high above, discord reared again its ugly head. Lines are crossed, and I remembered words spoken by both you and I that I was certain neither of us meant. Fate had breathed life to my darkest nightmare (You had been by my side all those nights ago, shaking me awake. _You were crying_ , you had said. You swore you would be there for me.). 

 _Like Icarus to the Sun_  
I remembered your defeated, worn frown when I drove the dagger home. It was true, as was every word I spoke against him. But even I myself knew it was cruel. I watched the fight drain from you. I wanted to much to come to you, I wanted so much to return to the past where I was ignorant. It was bliss then. ( _Ignorance isn’t bliss_ , Atarinkë had told me harshly as he found me in Tyelkormo’s messy, disorganised hunting lodge, wishing for a reprieve. _It’s waste_.) I had won.

 _And we were resigned_  
She too had won. I had won the argument, and she, your heart. Winning was a cold realisation, I found. Failure had left a bitter tang in the hollows of my mouth. When had the lines of failure and victory blurred? I had once loved winning. That moment of triumph, that glitter of joy when I won another duel. ( _I love you_ , I told you once. _But I love winning more._ You had smiled fondly at me. Life was good.) It seemed as though nature itself went through an evolution. Life had been a dream come true then, a paradise- it is dark and merciless now, dark as the confines of my mind, merciless as the thorns that remain when roses have wilted. Victory had been honey-sweet and fulfilling- it is sour now, sour and bitter and unwelcome.

 _Slaves chained to an unforgiving master._  
One week. One week of moping around, of taking up residence in Tyelkormo’s semi-home, of taking in Tyelkormo’s stares of pity and Atarinkë’s awkward attempts of comfort,  then I returned to Tirion- to the Noldor Courts. An unmistakable sadness took root in my heart- our love had lived through the wars, through separation, through death and grief. 

 _But I could not help it._  
Life was dull- ah, Findarato, how I wish I remained ignorant.

 _-You were the first and last thing on my mind every night-_  
Ignorance is bliss.

 _-But had I ever been on yours?-_  
(No, you fool. Ignorance is waste.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Leave a Comment!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there!  
> First of all, thank you so much for giving this chapter a chance.  
> This is my first time posting a fanfic and I would really appreciate it if you spare a bit more time to post a review, comment, whatever.  
> Please do correct me if there's something wrong with the grammar (apologies for that- English isn't my first language and I'm not quite familiar with it) or if you think that something could have gone better.  
> Thanks again for sparing the time.
> 
> Aisla_Elfvictory


End file.
